Heart of Ice
by BlackMage3
Summary: Draco and Ginny's story. As told by....Draco and Ginny.
1. Prologue

Okay, let me go ahead and get this out of the way. I don't own any of the characters in this story except myself. I wanted to go ahead and make a disclaimer/summery chapter so as not to interfere with the flow of the story.  
  
Now, this is what is going to happen.  
  
This story opens with Draco Malfoy standing in my kitchen and he asks a favor of me. Me, being BlackMage-Lizzie McGuire fan fiction writer.   
  
Also, another point of interest. Draco Malfoy, especially in the beginning, in his meeting with me, the author, comes off a lot more kind and mellow. Let me go ahead and say not to worry. There is a reason behind this change.   
  
Oh, and let me go ahead and forewarn. This is a Ginny/Draco fic, with a little Ron/Hermione tossed in for comic relief. I like Ginny and Draco stories and I also like Harry/Ginny. So maybe you'll see one of those after a while.  
  
So on with Chapter One. 


	2. As Told By

I had the most interesting occurrence come to pass today, an event that I feel deserves a paragraph or so of explanation. Draco Malfoy has come to visit me. I just happened to turn around and there he stood, his long arms draped unceremoniously behind his back, his silver hair slicked into it's infamous style. He greeted me politely, addressing me by my fan fiction handle.   
  
"How are you, Black Mage?"  
  
I smiled, inwardly pleased, despite the fact that this was a minion of Satan that was familiar with my work. "I'm fine," I replied, stirring the tea I had been making when he'd made his entrance. "What can I do for you?"  
  
"I need you to write a story."  
  
I considered all my past attempts and grinned. "Maybe you should ask someone else. I'm more of a Lizzie McGuire writer myself."  
  
He sighed, as though my minimal intelligence was annoying him and I frowned. This character, not even one I had created, had showed up my home and *he* was irritated by *me*? The irony..   
  
"Not even really fiction. A true story." He paused. "A love story. Me and Ginny Weasley. Obviously, I would be dictating this to you."  
  
I rolled my eyes and answered, "I don't let evil dictate me, in writing or otherwise. Comes from being a Christian."  
  
"I'm not evil."  
  
"Just misunderstood?"  
  
His hand strayed to his wand, and I visibly winced. Then he licked his lips. "Please."  
  
At this I had to pause, and reflect on all the books I had read in which he played an intricate part. I couldn't recall any words like that being spoken to another. "Okay," I finally answered. "But there are conditions."  
  
"For example?"  
  
"One," I began ticking them off on my fingers, "you are not dictating anything. You tell me the story and I get to use my creative license."  
  
"Fine."  
  
"Two," I continued, "you check your wand at the door. And by that, I mean put it on my computer desk and don't touch it until we're finished. I don't want you to be all, 'Ooo, do what I want or I'm going to turn you into a bean.'"  
  
He chuckled, disarming me. "Agreed."  
  
"And three: I can't be expected to stay up until all hours of the night, and I do have a life. So I'll get you a message when I'm ready to update and you can come back and we'll continue."  
  
"I will leave you my owl."  
  
Okay, so all of that was out of the way. Then he handed me a red, leather bound book.  
  
"This is Virginia's diary," he informed me, as though reading my mind. "She can't be here with us, but she gives her permission to read this and include her story."  
  
I took it gingerly, carefully opened it, inspected the inside. 'To my darling daughter on her 13th birthday. May this year and all the years to come be filled with memories to treasure.'  
  
The book in hand, I turned to the young man staring at me expectantly and smiled. "So, let's do this, shall we?"  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Heart of Ice  
  
As told to Katherine Diana, also known as Black Mage, by Draco Malfoy and Ginny Weasley.  
  
The air was chilly as he stepped outside. He tightened his long black cloak around his body and resisted the urge to shiver. Malfoys don't shiver. "Malfoys *deal.*" His father's words echoed through his mind now as the cruel winter day attacked his senses. Lucius Malfoy was always saying things like that. Few others could strip a spirit of its humanity as he could. A fact that neither Malfoy was able to overlook and though the senior found this to be quite the compliment, Draco couldn't help wishing that just for one day he could reasonably describe his father as loving.   
  
Inwardly wishing, of course. He didn't have a death wish.  
  
"Draco!" The familiar voice of Crabbe cut through the relaxing silence and the silver haired seventh year fought back a groan. His friend was loyal, sure, and, at the very least, interesting, but there were days (most days, really) when he wanted nothing more to be rid of this torture he called his life.   
  
He forced the trademark smirk onto his lips and snapped, "Did I forget to mention that I have no desire to be around you? My mistake. Now leave me be."   
  
The stunned look on his friend's face caused him to ache to recall the biting words, but he couldn't. One slip in his façade would mean a summer of true torture.   
  
"Sure, Draco," Crabbe replied, backing away quickly. "I just thought you'd like to know that McGonagall is on the war path. She said that if you don't get to class within the next 2 minutes she'll give you a detention that would make *Flint's* hair stand on end."  
  
He ignored the panic rising in his throat and the question in his mind, 'What TIME is it?', and walked lazily through the courtyard, in the direction of the aforementioned teacher's class. He would have run, had his logical mind not forced his feet to move slowly. How would it look for the feared Draco Malfoy to adhere to the rules?  
  
Of course if he was late and actually received the punishment threatened then his image would be the least of his troubles.   
  
When he finally waltzed into the classroom, the Professor was staring at her watch. "Two seconds to go, Malfoy. Have a seat, please."  
  
He was unable to swallow the sigh of relief that flowed through him, but thankfully nobody noticed. And, at that moment, if Crabbe had glanced back at him, the silver haired seventh year might have given him a grateful smile.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
As the class dismissed, Professor McGonagall called him to her desk. Ignoring the teasing of some of the braver Slytherin, Draco obliged silently.   
  
The rest of the students filed out and the aged teacher shut the door firmly.  
  
"Mr. Malfoy, is everything alright?"  
  
His head, previously hanging in anticipation of punishment to be brought, shot up. "What do you mean, Professor?" Certainly, out of all the teachers, Slytherin and otherwise, *she* wouldn't be the one to notice.  
  
She moved near her student and studied him carefully. "I have known you for the last 7 years as I've known all the children I've taught and lately you've seemed..." Her voice trailed away and her eyes dropped.  
  
He could barely trust his voice as he whispered, "Seemed what?"  
  
"Human, Mr. Malfoy... You've seemed very human."  
  
At those words he grabbed his books and strode out, a scowl darkening his pale features.   
  
"You've seemed very human," her remark echoed through his mind.  
  
What did that mean anyway? And what did *she* know? His father practically paid her salary.   
  
Yet something deep inside warmed at the comment. Compliments-the real ones, the ones that he ached for-were never paid to him. The closest were things like "Certainly *my* child can do better than *this.*"  
  
So wrapped up, was he, in his thoughts that he didn't notice the red haired 6th year rushing towards him, her arms filled with books.   
  
Which would be why he slammed right into her.  
  
"Watch where you're going," he snapped as all the girl's books fell to the floor.   
  
Shooting her a glare that could have chilled Voldermort, he stepped over the pile and continued on his way.  
  
"You bumped into me!" the girl yelled. He paused and turned, bright blues flashing. Then, when he really saw who it was, he almost laughed.   
  
The Weasley girl!  
  
"It would do you well to remember who I am," he hissed, not moving.  
  
She narrowed her eyes as she gathered the scattered textbooks. "A spoiled brat?" she ventured.  
  
He stepped forward warningly. "Watch your tongue, Weasley."  
  
She didn't say another word, but, books piled high, turned back to the path she had been taking.  
  
Sending her another scathing look to her back, he cursed himself for being too soft and stalked off. 


	3. Her

Authors' Note: Draco would like me to point out that the length in the chapter is solely due to the fact that I have been extremely busy. He would also like it mentioned that my typing is off. I apparently typed "Flint" where it should say "Filch" in 'As Told By.'   
  
Ginny sighed as she continued walking towards the library. She was already late for her study group and a glance at the time made her realize that by the time she arrived everyone would be gone. It was her own fault, to be honest. She'd gotten a little too wrapped up in the wizard's chess game she'd been playing against Harry.  
  
She'd won.  
  
Inwardly she smiled and altered her direction to return to the Common Room. She'd spent hours that summer playing her brother, relentlessly begging him to keep coaching her until one day she'd come within one move of winning. He'd since stopped his tutoring, but there was no denying that she'd gotten good.  
  
As she stepped inside, Harry glanced up and grinned pleasantly. "Hey, Gin. Come back for a rematch?"  
  
She chuckled. "Sorry, Harry, I really need to do my homework for tomorrow. I guess you'll have to end today knowing that you got beaten-rather badly, I must add- by a girl," she teased.   
  
His lips rose in amusement. "Until next time, then."  
  
"Until next time."  
  
Dropping into a near by chair she opened her Potions book, careful to keep her eyes trained to the page. She heard Ron and Hermione enter a few minutes later bickering.   
  
"Ron, there is no way you're going to make a good grade on this test if you don't apply yourself," Hermione was saying. Harry slid his eyes to meet Ginny's and grinned. They were both aware of the feelings that Ron and Hermione had spent the last 7 years smothering.  
  
Ron rolled his eyes, trademark in one of these arguments. "Hermione, how do you expect to make a good grade if you spend all your time harassing me about *my* grade," he returned. "Give Harry a go. You know-" he paused for emphasis, "spread your horizons."  
  
She glared and, to Ginny and Harry's pleasure, flushed. "I'm not worried about Harry," she snapped.  
  
Ron frowned. "So what you're saying is that Harry is smart enough to pass without your bossiness, but not me? Fantastic."  
  
Her voice softened. "That's not what I mean," she said, resting her books on a nearby table to approach her friend. "I just want you to do your best. You, yourself, told me how you wish you could step out of your brother's shadow."  
  
Ginny blinked but remained silent.  
  
"She's only acting this way because she cares about you," Harry encouraged.  
  
Ron sighed. "You too?" he asked, sounding betrayed.   
  
"Just let me help you," Hermione requested. "Let me study with you-just once. And if you don't do better I promise I'll leave you alone."  
  
A tempting offer. "Okay," he finally agreed.  
  
"Meet me tomorrow in the library after dinner then?"  
  
Swallowing back the grumble rising in his throat, Ron nodded. "Okay." Taking note of his sister's presence, he suddenly added, "Hey, Gin."   
  
"Hey, Ron."  
  
His eyes widened at the sight of all the books surrounding her. "Gin, where's your bag?"  
  
"I loaned it to Neville," she answered, grinning widely. "He set his on fire."  
  
At this, all four had to laugh.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The Common Room was buzzing with activity as one by one the Gryffindor began trickling in from their prospective classes. Several games of Wizard's Chess were being pulled together and though she was challenged in more than one instance, she couldn't gather the motivation.  
  
"I'm going to the courtyard," she told her brother, who was moving first on a game of Wizard's Chess against Seamus.  
  
He nodded in acknowledgement, but she wasn't entirely sure he heard. She knew few others that took the game as seriously as Ron.  
  
Grabbing her second hand cloak, she draped it around herself and started downstairs.  
  
The night air cooled her warm face the moment she stepped outside. Taking a deep breath, she couldn't help the calm that was beginning to settle within. The last couple of days had drained her of her energy. It was good to be outside and alone for a while. It gave her time to think.  
  
She could still hear Hermione's words echoing through her thoughts.   
  
"Gin," her friend had said, drawing her into the empty Common Room, "can't you see it?"  
  
Ginny had stared blankly at her friend, not following.   
  
"Harry likes you!"  
  
The declaration had frozen her, and she'd been unable to speak for a full minute. Then, when her voice found her, "Yeah right," she'd muttered. "Very funny."  
  
"I wouldn't lie about this!"  
  
Indeed, she wouldn't. Years of friendship assured her of the girl's sincerity.  
  
"Since when?"  
  
Hermione blinked. "Does it matter?" she questioned. "I thought this was what you wanted."  
  
Wasn't it? After 7 years of adoration, ever since that morning at the train station, watching him board the "Hogwarts Express," she was finally getting what she had desired.  
  
But Hero Worship isn't the same as love, a part of her heart whispered. She wished it would remain silent.  
  
It wouldn't. The doubts that had been flooding inside her since the day before suddenly rushed forward. Could she really risk a fantastic friendship with the greatest guy she'd ever known for something that could just be star crossed infatuation? Could she do that to Harry?   
  
But maybe it *was* love. How could it be anything besides? Seven *years* this had been going on, seven years she had watched his interest in others, never taking her seriously. Seven years she had patiently waited for him to come around, to see her as more than her brother's sister. Seven years she had watched him at Quidditch, wishing that she could give him an after game congratulatory kiss. Seven years and now Hermione said he felt the same way. She should be overjoyed. Yet she couldn't truly cast away the now nagging doubt.  
  
Ugh. She loathed herself.  
  
With sigh of frustration, she made to sit on a bench and, instead, slid to the cold ground, unconscious. 


	4. The Reluctant Hero

"No sooner met but they looked; no sooner looked but they loved; no sooner loved but they sighed; no sooner sighed but they asked one another the reason; no sooner knew the reason but they sought the remedy."  
  
-William Shakespeare  
  
It was by pure fate that he found her. He rarely went that way, and, besides, he'd had enough of the cold night air. It was far too uncomfortable for his standards. However, upon reaching the Slytherin Common Room, he realized he'd lost his pocket watch-a rather expensive gift from his father, a prize for being admitted into Hogwarts-and an irrational fear of it being covered in a blanket of snow seized him. He raced outside, his feet pounding against the cobblestone steps and then froze.  
  
There, laying face down in the snow, was the Weasley girl. Even from the distance, he could see the color in her small hands ebbing from them. Her red hair covered her face. And she wasn't moving.  
  
He was beside her in an instant, and, without thinking, he lifted the small sixth year into his arms. For the first time, he was grateful for the strenuous workout his father was getting into a habit of subjecting him to.   
  
Her body was stiff, and frozen. Fear, unlike anything he had ever felt, gripped his heart with an icy palm. He had to do something, and soon. He'd have to tend to her-the girl obviously needed treatment. But where to take her?  
  
The thought of the Gryffindor Common Room and Madame Pomfrey swept though his mind, but both were swiftly rejected. He would be accused of doing this to her, undoubtedly. And the last thing in the world he wanted was to get himself expelled. He could just imagine the look in his father's eyes…  
  
The Slytherin Common Room was so absolutely ridiculous that it was discarded before it had even became a full thought.   
  
Her lips were turning blue.  
  
He knew, rather instantly, what his decision was, and acting with speed he would have otherwise insisted he did not have, he flew up the stairs to the room he had chosen.  
  
He found the secret wall immediately, despite the fact that he'd only been inside once in his entire life. Mr. Malfoy had found the room as a child, and shared it with his son. Anything that had to do with his father was worth avoiding, Draco had decided long ago. Carefully, he placed his hand on the designated spot and, glancing over his shoulder once more, stepped inside and shut the camouflaged door firmly.   
  
With trembling hands, he laid the girl on the bed, and wrapped the blankets around her. The fireplace on the wall beckoned to be lit, and with a simple spell, he fulfilled the request. The crackling of the flames warmed the room quickly, and finally he went to check on her.  
  
Then he was able to breathe a sigh of relief when she shifted in her sleep. The frostbite was beginning to recede, and her frozen cheeks were already warmed. He collapsed into a nearby chair and dropped his head into his hands, finally able to allow his mask to slip ever so slightly. There was no one around to see it.  
  
For a full 15 minutes he sat there, trying to regain control. The Weasley girl-she'd be sleeping until he gave her the antidote for curse that had been put on her. And no one else knew where he was…   
  
When he was able to move without fear of tripping over his own feet, he approached a cupboard and pulled out the ingredients he knew were needed. In the meantime, as he prepared the antidote, his thoughts began to wander.  
  
It was a simple sleeping spell, he knew. They were fairly easy to spot, and just as easy to cure. But why put a sleeping spell on a 16 year old girl who was outside in the cold? If whoever had done it wanted to *kill* her, certainly there were less sloppy ways to go about it. Mentally, he shrugged, reminding himself that he certainly didn't care.  
  
The potion was done. Carefully, he opened Weasley's mouth and poured the solution inside. Almost immediately, her eyes slid open, and stared at him.  
  
"What's…going on," she whispered, fear lacing her voice.  
  
He smirked. "You got hit by a sleeping spell."  
  
She didn't ask for details. Her narrowed eyes spoke volumes.  
  
"It wasn't me," he snapped.  
  
He expected her to argue, to stare in incredulous disbelief, but either came to pass. In fact, the only words that escaped her lips were, "I can't move."  
  
He cleared his throat and nodded. "Yes, well, the only potion I know how to make only wakes the victim. I haven't any idea how to speed up the physical recovery." Reading her expression, he added, "Have no fear, though. It'll happen naturally. We'll just wait."  
  
"We?" she questioned, gazing up at him in surprise.  
  
He rolled his eyes. "Don't flatter yourself. I am only staying because when you are physically able to leave, I'll have to bind your eyes and lead you out so you can't see how to enter this room again."  
  
"I assure you, if this is a place you spend a lot of time, you've no fear of me breaking in."  
  
The pair glared at each other for a full minute before she sighed and dropped her gaze. "Thank you," she muttered.  
  
Raising an eyebrow, he studied the girl. "I've done nothing to deserve your thanks," he informed her.  
  
The expression on her face read impatience. "Of course you have. You saved my life."  
  
"Any one else would have done the same." His tone was biting. "Why does my completion of this task merit gratitude? Because you view me as an evil villain who wouldn't lit a finger to save another."  
  
The last was not a question.  
  
"You don't exactly radiate evidence that would lead one to believe the contrary."  
  
Well, there was no arguing that.  
  
"I thought you Gryffindors were supposed to believe in the benefit of the doubt."  
  
"Which is not the same as being naïve."  
  
"You're welcome."  
  
Their eyes met, fire and ice, and both hearts did a simultaneous flip flop.   
  
And both pairs of eyes looked away.  
  
Well, this was awkward.   
  
"I'm sorry about your parents," she finally murmured, making sure to keep her gaze downcast.   
  
Silence filled the room as he fought for an appropriate response. No one but he knew the truth about them-that they weren't dead. That both senior Malfoys were alive and breathing, and they had gone into hiding after Voldermort was truly defeated two years ago. That while he *did* stay with his aunt over the vacation, both his parents were also there.   
  
"It doesn't matter," he finally decided on.  
  
"I meant to tell you," she continued, talking quickly, as not to lose her nerve, "I wanted to. But you never seemed all that interested in my…"  
  
"Pity?"  
  
"Sympathy."  
  
Ha. That was what they all called it. Even Potter, who had made a last ditch effort to leave the past behind them and attempt to reconcile. Had to admire the guy-he had courage.  
  
"It was a long time ago."  
  
A long silence followed, but for this he was grateful. He wasn't at all sure he could handle any more dazzling repartee with Weasel's sister. And any more of those wide eyed innocent looks she had given him may make him reveal things he shouldn't be revealing.  
  
Like truths.  
  
"Malfoy," she said suddenly.  
  
Oh well. So much for that.  
  
He didn't look up at her again, but she continued.   
  
"Malfoy, what *is* this place?"  
  
"A zoo."  
  
She glared at his sarcasm. "I *mean* how did you find it?" She paused to examine the room. "It's like an extra Common Room, or something, with a bed."  
  
"My father used it to seduce my mother."  
  
She asked, didn't she?  
  
"How..." she fumbled for words but ended up with, "interesting..."  
  
He chuckled. "My thoughts exactly. I could tell you more…"  
  
Shaking her head feviously, she said, "No thank you. I expect I've heard enough."  
  
The reluctant hero 


End file.
